Amor Vincit Omnia IV: When Angels Weep
by dr. kitten
Summary: Five years have passed since Diablo was cast down from the Heavens, and the Nephalem have scattered to the winds of Sanctuary. In a quiet town, Saiya struggles to raise a child whose veins run with blood both divine and demonic. But as a deadly plague ravages the city of Westmarch, she is once again called to fight beside her friends to defend the world. Follows Reaper of Souls.
1. Prologue: Two Children

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

 **(Love Conquers All)**

 _ **Part IV: When Angels Weep**_

* * *

 _Blind, in the deepest night_  
 _Reaching out, grasping for a fleeting memory_  
 _All the thoughts, keep piercing this broken mind_  
 _I fall, but I'm still standing motionless_  
 _Far, in the distance_  
 _There is light, a light that burns, these scars of old_  
 _All this pain, reminds me of what I am_  
 _I'll live, I'll become all I need to be_  
 _Words that kill, would you speak them to me_  
 _With your breath so still, it makes me believe_  
 _In the Father's sins_  
 _Let me suffer now and never die, I'm alive_

 _\- Donna Burke, "Sins of the Father"_

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 **Welcome, Dear Readers, to the fourth and final part of Amor Vincit Omnia! If you haven't read the other three ... well, you'd better. ;) For all my recurring readers, it's a privilege to have made it this far with you! I'm looking forward to another year of high adventure!**

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Prologue: Two Children

 _Twenty-five years ago …_

The boy could barely remember his own name. It had been three weeks since the plague had swept through his village, decimating the small population. It had come from the demons, people said. He alone had escaped illness, but not the starvation that followed like slime in the wake of a snail, day after day of eating rats and toads, picking through empty houses for bits of moldy bread, stripping the bark from trees to chew on. And every day, as afternoon dwindled into evening, he would return to the little hovel by the river where his mother lay dying.

There, he would carefully divide whatever he had managed to scrounge and feed a share of it to her by hand. She never ate more than a few bites, and even that usually found its way back up again. The hut reeked of vomit. He had no time to clean; every spare moment was spent trying to find enough food to survive another day.

The boy knew that he could not save his mother's life. She was doomed from the moment that the town healer died, for inevitably that meant an end to the potions that kept her alive. The boy did not know how to make them. There was a recipe, but he could read only a few of the words – simple ones like 'stir' and 'fire'. The rest were just unintelligible squiggles. He was almost illiterate.

But even though he knew, though he could feel in his bones that her days on earth were running out, he was still shocked when he came back home and found her bed empty. A golden dust lay heavy on the stained and filthy sheets. It was the only remains of his mother, a divine being, an angel who had taken human form.

The boy did not eat that night, though earlier he had found, in a stroke of luck that bordered on miraculous, a stray chicken that had been holed up in the silo, getting fat on the grain stored there. It would be a feast fit for a king, but the boy had no appetite. He sat for a long time, his hand resting on the blankets where his mother had lain. Then he got quietly up and walked out of the hovel and down the bank to where the river, swollen by recent rains, rushed along on its journey to the sea.

Not knowing precisely what he was doing, only that he was tired and no longer wanted to keep struggling, the boy waded into the water. It was freezing, and his legs were numb in seconds. He didn't even feel the sharp stones cutting into his bare feet.

When the water had reached his waist, however, he heard a sound from the far bank that startled him out of his trance. It was a thin wail, almost lost over the roar of the current. A human child.

His curiosity roused, the boy splashed into the river and began to swim across. Even emaciated, he was a powerful swimmer, cutting through the water as effortlessly as a fish. Reaching the far bank, he pushed his way through a thick clump of reeds to find the source of the crying.

A young woman was huddled in a little nest of grass on the bank. She was dead. But she had not been sick when she died. Her skin, pale and shining in the twilight, was free of any pox or boils. Locked in her stiff embrace, held tightly against her breast, was a tiny bundle of rags. It was from this that the sound had come.

The boy moved closer, timidly. He recognized the woman. She was from the village. He did not know her name, but he knew she had recently given birth. Before the plague came, he had seen her sometimes down by the river, singing to her child as she bathed it. Watching from the safety of the bushes, he had thought to himself that she was very beautiful, though not as beautiful as his own mother.

But now his mother was dead, and this beautiful girl was also dead, but he was still alive, and so was the baby in the bundle of rags. It was very cold, though, especially here in the reeds by the river, and the baby was too young to stay alive for long in cold like this, and with nothing to eat. There was food in the hovel, and blankets to stay warm with. And so the boy pried the infant from the young woman's arms and carried it, still crying, downstream to the bridge, and then back up the other bank to the hut where he lived.

Tenderly, as tenderly as he had cared for his dying mother, he stripped off the damp rags. The child was female. She was almost blue with chill. He rubbed her tiny arms and legs until the warmth of life came back into them, and wrapped her in his own spare shirt, because all the blankets were dirty, and laid her down beside the fire that he'd lit.

She was still wailing, plaintive little cries, and he thought, _she's hungry._ And he was surprised to discover that he was hungry, too, a biting, ravenous ache in his stomach that he hadn't felt in days. He put the chicken in a pot with some water and boiled it, and devoured it all, sucking the bones clean. But the broth he fed to the child with a spoon, little sips, until her cheeks were rosy and her eyes drooped shut.

Holding her on his lap, he felt the sudden need to start speaking. Once he'd begun, he couldn't stop, words pouring out like rain on a parched desert. His voice creaked and rasped, rusty with disuse.

"My name is Kael," he said. "I'm eleven years old. I was born here, in this hut. My father was a fisherman, but he died when I was a newborn, even smaller than you. They made him fight in the war, even though he didn't know how to be a soldier. His name was Erik, so I'm going to call you Erika, since I don't know what name your mother gave you.

"My mother didn't have a name, not like us, because she was an angel. She came down from the heavens and pretended to be a human lady, and my father fell in love with her. In the heavens, she was called Nuriel, and she was the Angel of Storms. She loved thunder and lightning and wind and rain.

"But she's dead now, and your mother is dead too. I'm not sure why she died, but if I had to guess I would say that she starved to death. I think she was hiding there for a long time, with you. Maybe she was too scared to come out and look for food.

"Anyway, we're both alone in the world now. I can take care of myself, but you're so little. You're just a wee thing, Erika. So I'm gonna take care of you, too. I'll be your big brother from now on, and I won't let anything hurt you, not ever. First thing tomorrow morning, we're going to head north, away from this place. I'll find work when we get to the city. I can cook and clean, and I know a bit about animals, so I'm sure I can find some way of getting money. You don't need to be afraid, little Erika. We're going to have a good life, I promise."

On his lap, the infant slumbered peacefully. Eventually, the boy slept as well, dreaming about the future.


	2. 1 - A Knock at the Door

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

 **(Love Conquers All)**

 _ **Part IV: When Angels Weep**_

* * *

 _"Mystery of mysteries,_  
 _Faintly smiling Adeline,_  
 _Scarce of earth nor all divine,_  
 _Nor unhappy, nor at rest."_  
 _\- Alfred Lord Tennyson_  
 _"Adeline"_

* * *

 **Hey, everyone, I know it's been a while and it probably looks like I've abandoned this story! Not the case! Several things have been contributing to my lack of regular updates ... not the least of which is that I'm working on a novel at the moment, the first big writing project I've had since I started AVO! I'm really excited about it, but still trying to split my time between that and this so that I don't just leave you guys hanging. Anyway, my most sincere apologies to anyone who's review I didn't respond to last time. I read them all and appreciated them greatly, but I think I may have dropped the ball on actually writing back. Please don't let that discourage you! Reviews inspire me greatly! And I'll do better as responding this time, I promise. With that, on to the next chapter! Thanks for reading! Love you guys!**

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Chapter One: A Knock at the Door

Saiya wiped sweaty hair out of her eyes, staring down into the stew pot in frustration. It wasn't thickening the way it was supposed to, and it was giving off an odd smell. She stirred a few times, first in one direction and then the other, in case that would make a difference. Chunks of beef and potato floated to the top and then sank again. She poked a large, transparent slab of onion with her spoon, and it split in two. Everything was fully cooked, so why was it still watery?

The answer was apparent when she scooped up a bit of broth and tasted it, only to shudder and rush for a glass of water. The leavening for making bread and pastries was kept in an identical jar to the arrowroot, and both were a fine white powder. She must have grabbed the wrong one by accident.

"Gods damn it," she hissed, rinsing the foul taste out of her mouth. The stew, product of her labor for the better part of the day, was inedible now. There was no time to start over again; she would have to make something else for dinner.

The beef at least was salvageable, which was good because it was the most expensive ingredient in the meal. New Tristram's farms, which had been decimated during the Plague of the Risen Dead five years before, were now struggling to feed a burgeoning population. There was enough food, thanks to a strict rationing program set in place by the new mayor (an intelligent, if rather stern, woman by the name of Daria), but luxuries like good beef were hard to come by. Saiya had bought some that morning because it was the third of the month, and Baal was supposed to arrive.

He had been absent for forty-seven days now – not quite the longest stretch she had gone without seeing him, but verging on it – chasing rumors of a werewolf in the south of Westmarch. She had received messages from him periodically, delivering by a cranky Gawahir, and his latest had announced that he had determined the rumors to be unfounded and was returning by way of the Sea Road. As always, the ache of missing him grew more intense (or at least, she finally allowed herself to feel it) as soon as she knew he was coming home.

Grumbling to herself about the need for a labeling system for her baking products, Saiya scooped the beef pieces out of the ruined stew, setting them aside to be rinsed and repurposed, and carried the rest of the pot out to the back yard of the little cottage. Walter, their pet boar, greeted her with an affable grunt. Baal had brought him home as a piglet, orphaned by mistake after a hunting expedition, and he had taken to them immediately, becoming something of a household guardian. When he was tiny, it had been adorable to see him chase after any intruders who approached the front door. Now that he weighed five hundred pounds and stood as tall as Saiya's waist, it was terrifying. They had relocated him to the back yard after he nearly killed a traveling merchant.

"Did you burn dinner again, mama?" asked a small voice at her back. Saiya turned to see her four-year-old daughter, Natalya, standing in the doorway.

"No," she replied indignantly. "And what do you mean, again? Earlier this week doesn't count. I was having an important conversation with Captain Aidel."

"You were talking about how many prizes should be awarded at the Harvest Fair," Natalya said. "I think it could have waited until after dinner."

Saiya shook her head, giving Walter a few brisk pats before herding her daughter back inside the house. It was a waste of time to argue with Nattie: the girl had inherited a disastrous combination of her stubbornness and Baal's belligerence, plus a blade-sharp wit that was entirely her own and made her seem much older than her scant years. Many an adult had been lured into a false sense of security by her round face and large eyes, only to be eviscerated by keen, and not always kind, observations about their person. It was one of many reasons why Saiya never allowed Nattie to go out unsupervised.

The others, she was less willing to acknowledge, but unfortunately they were obvious in the child's somewhat unusual appearance. She was definitely Baal's offspring – same olive skin, same abundance of black curls – but the feature that was most akin to her father's was her eyes. They were red, like his filmed over when he felt the demon-hunting bloodlust descend on him. But unlike Baal's eyes, Natalya's burned constantly with a strange, potent fire. When she was angry, which seemed to be often, or afraid, a much rarer occurrence, her eyes blazed so fiercely that they seemed to produce their own light.

It was, Saiya knew, because of the other strain in her blood. While still in the womb, she had been tainted by one of the Great Evils, Azmodan. Saiya had chosen to keep her anyway, against the advice of her own mother and even Baal, and never once had she regretted her decision. Natalya was more than the sum of her parts. But still she could not help the agonizing quake in her chest whenever she looked at the girl and imagined who she should have been, an innocent child free of the curse that loomed over her, the power that she would be forced to control if her existence in the world was to continue.

"Mama," said Natalya, "you've got your worry-face on. Why do you worry so much? Dada isn't going to stop loving you because you burned dinner. He's used to it."

Saiya feigned a gasp of shock. "You cheeky squirrel! You know what happens to little girls who sass their mothers, don't you?"

Natalya edged away from her. "No …"

"They get tickled!" Springing on the child, she tackled her gently to the ground and began to scrabble at the sensitive area along her ribs with clawed fingers. Nattie writhed and shrieked and giggled. When Saiya judged she'd had enough, she stopped and sat up straight, ceasing her vicious assault.

"Do you surrender?" she asked.

Nattie crossed her arms, pouting, but Saiya waved threatening fingers at her, she cried, "Yes, I surrender!"

"Good. Then let's hurry down to the market and buy something else for dinner. I'm thinking salmon? It will cook quickly, at least."

"As long as you put oil in the pan this time," said Natalya. "And don't forget to season-"

There was a knock on the door, three heavy pounds of a fist that reverberated throughout the small abode. Saiya was instantly alert. No one knocked like that unless there was trouble.

"Stay here, sweetie," she said, and went to answer. The door opened on a slim young man in a worn traveling cloak, a sweaty, frothing horse tied up at the post behind him.

"Are you Saiya?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes," she replied. "Who are you? What business do you have with me?"

"My name is Hassal," he said. "I serve in the Horadrim, and I come bearing a message for you, from your husband."

"My-" Saiya coughed, a blush staining her cheeks. "Um, we're not married." She had asked him once, in a joking way, when he intended to do right by her. His response had been, 'Not as long as I'm with the Hunters.' That had been the end of the discussion; she knew better than to push it.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hassal. "I beg your pardon, my lady. From the way he talked about you, I presumed-"

"Never mind," said interrupted. "What's the message?"

"He is delayed, ma'am."

Saiya's brows contracted. "He was due back _today_!"

"I know. I was traveling with him. Late last night, we received an urgent communication from my leader, Tyrael, who is currently in the capitol of Westmarch. He called for Baal's aid in a desperate matter, and I was sent here to ask that you would join him with all haste."

"I can't." Even as she shook her head in regret, Saiya's heart was singing at the thought of being on the road again, of facing down danger by her lover's side. Life in New Tristram was peaceful and good – but sometimes that also translated into boring.

Hassal looked shocked. "You … can't? But ma'am-"

"I have a child, in case Baal didn't mention it. I can't just leave her by herself while I go traipsing all over Sanctuary. Tyrael would understand that."

"Can she not stay with friends? Surely someone could take care of her for a month or two." Hassal was beginning to look desperate. "Please, my lady, Tyrael specifically asked for you. He needs your help!"

"For what?" Saiya demanded. "What's going on in Westmarch?"

"No one knows yet, but it's bad. Very bad. The city glows at night with strange magic, and people are falling ill, their flesh melting away to leave only bones. The death toll is already in the hundreds."

"Ytar's grace," Saiya whispered. "Another plague? And a magical one this time …" Privately, she wondered if Adria could be involved. It seemed more likely that not. In that moment, she decided that if there was any change of encountering the witch, she would have to go. Lyndon's murder was yet to be avenged.

"Alright," she said, standing aside so that the doorway was open. "I'll get ready. Please come in and make yourself at home."

Natalya asked no questions as Saiya moved around the house, grabbing essentials and stuffing them into a pack. No doubt she had been listening to the whole conversation, and had as good an idea what was going on as Saiya did, if not a better one.

But what to do about her? She was not old enough to stay in the house on her own, mature though she was for her age. And Saiya was loathe to ask any of her friends to care for her. The last time she had left Nattie in someone else's care, she'd been one year old, and her cries of dismay at being parted from her mother had summoned a frightening and unnatural storm which had done real damage to the town. No one had died, thank the gods, but several cows had been struck by lightning. Not to mention all the structural damage. Nattie was older now, with a better grasp over her emotions, but Saiya still felt that she couldn't risk it for such a long period.

She would have to take the girl with her.

Turning to Natalya, she said, "How would you like to go and surprise Dada?"

Her daughter grinned, revealing tiny, perfect teeth. "That sounds like fun."

"Okay, then. Get some of your clothes together, and anything else you might want. Not too heavy, though. It's going to be a long trip."

"Can we take Walter?"

About to say 'no', Saiya reconsidered. There could be no more devoted guardian for her little girl. If they were walking into danger, which she could almost guarantee they were, it would be a good idea to have as much protection as possible. Plus, Nattie could ride on his back if she got tired.

"Yes, Walter will come with us. Now hurry, sweetie. Dada's waiting for us."

Natalya ran off to her room, allowing Saiya to finish packing in peace. Hassal watched quietly from the fireside armchair which Baal usually occupied when he was home.

"How long have you and Baal known each other?" he asked presently.

Saiya glanced up from the food she was sorting. None of it was particularly suitable for long days of travel; she would have to stop by the market on her way out of town and buy some jerky and journey-bread. Maybe a bag of dried fruit as well.

"What's that?" she said, mind still half occupied with her task. "Oh, about five years."

"He's a remarkable man," said Hassal. "A truly gifted Hunter. I found it a pleasure to work with him."

"You did?" Realizing how that sounded, she flushed, but it was a legitimate question. Baal certainly had the capability of forming friendships with others, but much like his daughter he had a tendency to rub people the wrong way if they weren't used to his prickly demeanor. Besides her, Caesar had probably been the closest to him out of their friends, but they had _hated_ each other at first.

Her eyes flickered automatically to the corner, where Caesar's hat rested in a place of honor on a high shelf, above the reach of tiny hands. Her idea in place it there was that constant exposure to the sight of it would eventually numb to her to pain of his loss. So far, it had yet to work. Every time she glanced at the hat, she felt a shard of agony work its way deeper into her heart.

With a jolt, she realized that Hassal was speaking to her. "Yes, ma'am, I did. I've never met someone so knowledgeable about demons. And _fearless._ Completely fearless. I saw a corrupted wolf snap its jaws shut _this_ close to his face, and he never even blinked."

She laughed. "Well, he should be fearless. After what we faced together, I don't think anything in Hell could scare us."

Hassal leaned forward in the chair, his thin face eager. "Tell me about it!" he exclaimed.

"You mean you haven't already heard the whole story from Baal?" Saiya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," said Hassal. "He was reluctant to speak of it. I did not press him for the tale."

"Perhaps while we're walking," she said. "For now, I-"

Another knock on the door, this one soft but hurried, six taps right in a row. Saiya recognized that pattern. Sighing inwardly, she went to answer it. Rosylea stood on the door step, bouncing on the tips of her toes. Seeing a dark-haired figure in Baal's chair, her eyes lit up, but her excitement dimmed considerably when she realized that he was a stranger.

"O-oh," she faltered. "I'm sorry, Saiya. I didn't mean to interrupt. I … I just thought … I know that Baal is due back today and I thought maybe you and he would want me to take Nattie for the evening. So you could have some … time."

 _So you could see him, you mean,_ Saiya thought uncharitably. Correcting herself – the girl was young and naïve and meant no harm – she said, "Thank you, Rosy. That was a very sweet thought. Unfortunately, Baal hasn't made it back yet."

Rosylea gasped. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine, as far as I know. Natalya and I are going to take a little trip to Westmarch and join him."

"I could come with you!" the girl blurted. "I could help you take care of Nattie. Please?"

Saiya shook her head, keeping her smile fixed firmly in place. "No, thank you. I don't know how long we'll be gone, exactly."

"But-"

"No." A steel edge crept into her tone. "You'll be the first to know when we return, I'm sure. Now please excuse me, I have a lot of packing to do."

Rosylea, looking crushed, slunk away. Saiya spared a moment of mingled pity and annoyance for the girl. Adopted by Captain Aidel and his wife after a khazra attack had slaughtered her entire family, she was now in her mid-teens and rapidly growing into the stunning beauty that Saiya had foreseen when she was a child. She turned heads wherever she went in the village, but it was becoming apparent that she had eyes for only one. Baal seemed oblivious to both her charms and her fervent crush on him, treating her as something of a bothersome little sister, but that only served to encourage her to greater length in her pursuit of him. Saiya tolerated it because of her age, knowing that she would likely get over it in time, and because she genuinely liked Rosylea, who was one of the few people in Tristram who voluntarily spent time with Natalya on a regular basis.

That didn't mean that it wasn't irritating when the girl showed up unannounced at their house, interrupting what precious little time they had together as a family and blushing every time Baal asked her to pass the butter.

"Lovely girl," remarked Hassal, who had observed the whole interaction.

"Yes," Saiya agreed, working hard to keep her frustration out of her voice. "She's the only one I really trust with Nattie."

"Why don't you leave her here, then?" he pressed. Saiya gave him a sharp look, and he quailed slightly, but continued, "I mean no offense ma'am, truly, but there is likely to be danger. I don't wish for your little one to come to any harm."

"And she won't," said Saiya, "as long as I'm around to keep an eye on her. Natalya is … not like other children. She's a special case. I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving her with others for a long stretch of time."

"As you wish," said Hassal, shrugging. "I was asked to fetch you at any cost, so I suppose I may consider my duty done. When do you wish to depart?"

Saiya glanced out the widow. It was well past noon, but there was enough daylight hours remaining, she judged, to make a good start. She said, "As soon as we're ready."

Natalya emerged from her room, lugging a stuffed pack with some difficulty. " _I'm_ ready," she announced.

"What's in there?" Saiya inquired, eyeing the bulging fabric and strained seams.

"Stuff I need," replied Nattie, cryptically.

"I see. And who's going to carry it?"

Her daughter grinned. "Walter is."

 _Poor Walter,_ Saiya thought to herself as she went out back to put the boar's harness on. It consisted of a child-sized saddle, custom-built to fit his broad, sloped back, and reins that attached to his formidable tusks. It would be wise, she decided, to have Nattie ride on his back as they went through town. The boar's sense of responsibility while bearing his small charge would override his instinct to attack any potentially threatening males on sight.

Before they left, she did the rounds of the house, extinguishing any lanterns left burning, closing all the window shutters, and putting all the perishable food into the ice chest (she would tell Aidel to come and take whatever he wanted). Then she sent Hassal out into the street, locked the front door, and went around the back to retrieve Walter, lifting Nattie onto his back.

"Excuse me," she said to Hassal when they'd rejoined him. "I have a few people I need to inform. Can I meet you by the north gate in half an hour?"

"Of course," he said, bowing. "I must take my horse to the local stables, if we are to go by foot. In any case, the poor creature could use a rest."

They parted ways, and Saiya went first to the guardhouse in search of Captain Aidel. She found him sweaty and shirtless, laboring along with some of his soldiers to install a new armor rack.

"Saiya!" he exclaimed, stepping away from the project. "What can I do for you? Hello, little miss."

"Good afternoon, Captain," replied Natalya, unusually polite. She liked Aidel, who often brought her treats and little presents when he came to visit.

"I have to leave town," Saiya said. "It's … well, not an emergency, exactly, but there's something I need to do. I could be gone a while."

His brows pinched in concern. "I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so. You're welcome to have anything you like from my ice chest. I left some food in there but I don't think it will last until I return."

"I appreciate you notifying me," said Aidel. "May the gods be with you."

She didn't linger, heading next for the market to make a few purchases, and then finally to the house of her only other close friend in town. Leena was out, so Saiya wrote a brief note explaining her absence and pinned it to the door. Then, adjusting her pack to be more comfortable, she set out for the north gate. Hassal was waiting for them there.

"I thank you again for doing this," he said. "I am sorry to have disrupted your quiet life in such a way."

"It's quite alright," said Saiya. "If Tyrael needs me …"

"He does, most urgently. I only hope that we can reach him before it is too late. I was not reckoning on traveling with a small child."

Natalya scowled at his back, but fortunately, he did not turn around to see. Saiya said, "Nattie's not going to slow us down. So, Hassal, tell me about yourself. You are from Kehjistan?"

"Yes," he said. "There's not much to tell, really. I come from a small village on the coast, fourth son of a farmer. There weren't many prospects for me in my hometown. I thought of joining the Iron Wolves, but that was right around the time that they lost favor with the emperor, so I waited. When the Horadrim came recruiting, I couldn't sign up fast enough. I've been with them ever since."

"What sort of work do you do for them?" she asked.

Hassal shrugged. "At this point, I'm sort of a message-runner. I enjoy being on the road, and I don't mind going light and fast. So I carry letters between Tyrael and his cohorts, and deliver things that need to be delivered. Sometimes I'm assigned to an escort duty, like now, but that's rare."

"Escort?" Saiya repeated, a little offended by the implication that she required someone to herd her around like a lost sheep.

"Well, yes. My orders were to fetch you and bring you safely back to Westmarch."

She sighed. There was no sense in alienating a potential friend right off the bat, but all the same, she would not tolerate any condescending behavior from her new companion.

"Let's get something straight," she said. "We'll get along a lot better if you don't harbor any old-fashioned ideas of protecting me like I'm some fragile village girl. I know how to fight."

Hassal looked a bit startled, but he conceded gracefully enough, executing a short bow. "I meant no offense, ma'am."

"None taken, as long as you learn. And my name is Saiya. You might as well use it, since we'll be on the road together for a few weeks."

He grinned, the expression transforming his thin, solemn face into something positively boyish. "Okay then. Saiya and Nattie."

"My name is Natalya," the little girl replied. "No one gets to call me Nattie except for mama and dada, and Rosylea because I like her."

"You don't like me?" inquired Hassal, sounding a bit hurt.

She shook her head. "No."

"Nattie!" Saiya exclaimed. "We talked about this, remember? It's okay not to like people, but it's rude to just tell them so."

"Oh." Her eyes flared crimson. "Sorry, Hassal. I still don't like you, though."

"That's okay, Miss Natalya," he said. "Your mother's right, you don't have to like everyone you meet. But I hope to change your mind about me by the time we reach Westmarch."

"Maybe," Nattie said. "We'll see. Come on, Walter, I want to scout ahead." She nudged her heels into the boar's massive sides. It must have felt to him as insubstantial as an insect landing on him, but he responded immediately, breaking into a slight trot.

"Stay within eyesight!" Saiya shouted after them. To Hassal, she said, "Please don't take her rejection personally. As I said, she's an unusual girl. The list of people she actually likes is _very_ small. I'm sure she'll come around. A word of advice, though – try not to treat her like a child. She hates that."

"I will certainly do my best," Hassal promised.


	3. 2 - The Wolf in the Night

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

 _ **(Love Conquers All)**_

Part IV: When Angels Weep

Chapter 2: The Wolf in the Night

* * *

" _Looking at you, I wanted to say_

 _I think a little emotion goes a long, long way_

 _Careful now, don't get caught in your dreams_

 _Look out, baby, this is not what it seems!"_

 _\- Silver_

" _Wham Bam Shang-a-lang"_

* * *

 **I'M BACK! Wow, it's been so long. I want to send out a HUGE thank you to everyone who has kept this story on their radar, in the hope that I might return to it someday, as well as everyone who has picked it up in the interim and read the whole thing despite that massive drop-off right at the beginning of part 4. You guys are the best readers an author could ever hope for!**

 **So: a few words, before I get started. Yes, I do intend to finish it. However, I can't promise quick and regular updates. I'll do my best to post as often as I can, and will likely be writing a lot in the upcoming weeks, since my interest has been reinvigorated (thanks mostly to a very awesome person who sent me a very kind and encouraging message :D ) My goal is to post shorter chapters more frequently, hopefully to avoid the sort of burnout that drove me away from this project for two damn years ...**

 **But really, it felt so great to be working on AVO again! I missed you guys! Please write in and let me know what you think! I hope this story is still able to capture people's interest :)**

* * *

 _Two weeks later …_

Saiya couldn't sleep. There was a restless feeling in the air that reminded her of the electric charge before a summer storm. There was no reason for it; their journey had been almost ludicrously easy thus far. The weather had been fine. No one had harassed them on the road. Hassal had proven himself enjoyable company - friendly and cheerful while maintaining a respectful distance. The monk had grown to consider him a friend, although Natalya stubbornly refused to warm to him, despite his best efforts at winning her over.

The child was slumbering nearby, under a double layer of blankets, for there was a chill to the night. Saiya checked on her more out of habit than any real concern, gently removing the thumb that was firmly inserted into her daughter's mouth. Walter, a great mound of shadow against the backdrop of foliage beside the road, lifted his head and snorted.

"Shh," Saiya whispered. "It's alright, boy, it's only mama."

"I've seen dogs less faithful," remarked Hassal from his post. He had thoughtfully offered to take the first watch.

"Yes," said Saiya, "I know. I sometimes feel that he's more of a parent to Nattie than I am."

He chuckled. "Surely that is not true. You seem an excellent mother. But what is the matter? Can't sleep?"

"Not tired, I guess," she replied, shrugging. "Do you mind if I keep you company for a little while?"

"Not at all." He was indulging in a pipe of tobacco, as he often did in the evenings, and he offered it to her as she neared him. She declined with a rueful smile. At first, she had accepted out of politeness, and had ended up regretting it when the smoke made her queasy.

They sat together for some time in comfortable silence. That's what was so nice about Hassal, Saiya thought; there was no need to fill space with pointless words and small talk. Like her, he understood quiet.

Presently, however, he said, "We are not far from Westmarch, you know. A few days more, and we'll reach the outskirts of the city. Tyrael has established a camp there, for those displaced by the plague, and for the brave souls who have dedicated themselves to fighting it."

"That's where Baal will be, no doubt," she said, a little thrill of exuberation running through her at the thought of seeing his face. He would be expecting her, of course, so the fun of surprising him would be absent, but still … it had been so long.

"I cannot imagine him elsewhere," said Hassal. "He is a-"

A piercing howl cut him off, loud and long from somewhere alarmingly near. Saiya was on her feet at once, fists raised and at the ready, scanning the darkness for any signs of movement.

"It's nothing, I'm sure," Hassal said calmly. "Just a wolf."

"It sounded close," she replied. "I don't want to take any chances."

Another howl rang out. Either there were more wolves, or the one had moved a considerable distance in a very short time. Hassal grabbed her arm, pointing to a spot between two trees.

"There!" he said. "I see it."

Saiya turned to glance in the direction he was pointing, and a pair of arms locked around her from behind, crushing her in a vice-like grasp. She stomped backwards, trying to locate and crush a foot, but her attacker was as flexible as a snake, twisting with her. A bag was pulled quickly down over her head, obscuring her vision. Something punched her hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from her.

"Run!" cried Hassal. "I have the child!"

And at the same moment, Nattie let out a shriek of fear that was cut off with frightening suddenness.

Saiya's well-honed senses informed her of a body to the left. She shifted her weight and kicked out powerfully, hitting her mark. But the satisfaction was momentary, for her legs were swept out from underneath her and she fell hard. Immediately, weight piled on top of her, pinning her down. She felt two or even three sets of hands on her arms and legs, gripping tightly. They rolled her over, pressing her face into the mud of the road. It was hard to breathe through dirt and cloth; choking, she gasped for air, struggling with all her might. There was only one thought in her mind.

 _Natalya!_

There was an explosion of enraged squeals as Walter joined the fray. One of the men holding Saiya let go, presumably to deal with the boar. With the tiny amount of leverage she had gained, she managed to wrench her head around far enough to catch a single breath: all she needed.

A wave of force exploded outward from her body, knocking her assailants away like leaves before a gale. She scrambled upright, ripping the bag free. Their camp was in chaos. Someone had kicked the fire, scattering blazing coals everywhere. Smoke billowed thickly. She couldn't see Hassal … she couldn't see her _daughter_.

"Nattie?" she screamed. "Nattie, answer me!"

Nothing. Fighting off panic, Saiya tore a branch from an overhanging pine tree, thrusting it into the wreckage of the fire to make a rudimentary torch. By its light, she could see the footprints of numerous people - six or seven at least. But the enemy was long gone, having fled as soon as she had freed herself. Hassal was gone, too. He must have grabbed Natalya and escaped as soon as the attack began. Saiya felt a profound gratitude towards the Horadrim for his quick thinking, and for protecting the thing that was most important to her. It was right that he had left her to fend herself. As long as Nattie was safe …

Walter was on the ground, thrashing and kicking beneath a weighted net. Saiya frowned to herself as she freed the frantic animal, speaking in a gentle voice to calm him. This was not some random, chance raid by bandits. They had come prepared, and they knew who they were after. The question was: who had been the target?

"What do you think, Walt?" she asked as she stamped out the small fires that had sprouted up from the coals. "Who could have set this up? And why?"

Walter grunted. He was sullen and impatient, wanting to find his young charge. Saiya gave him a hearty pat on the rump.

"No, no. We have to stay here until Hassal returns. He will come back, I know it."

If any pig was capable of skepticism, it was Walter. The sidelong stare that he gave her seemed to say, _you really think so?_

"He'll come back," she repeated, and settled down to wait.

* * *

Natalya was furious. She was slung over that stinking man's back like a sack of potatoes, a rag stuffed in her mouth, being jounced up and down as he sprinted through the woods. Branches slapped her across the face, spider webs and dead leaves tangled in her hair, and his grip bruised her legs.

Worst of all, they had taken her from Mama. She didn't like to be away from Mama. The Pit (as she called it) grew larger when they were separated, a yawning chasm in her soul, with hideous sounds drifting up from the bottom of it. Sometimes she felt as though she was standing on the edge of it, and she would get very dizzy, and if she fell …

Dada was very clear about that. If she fell, she wouldn't be herself anymore. She would turn into something else, something incredibly bad, and Dada would be forced to kill her.

Mama had been angry about that conversation. Natalya knew, because she had heard them talking later, in the dark of their room, in hushed whispers.

" _Baal, what the hell were you thinking? Issuing death threats to your own child? She'll be terrified of you now!"_

" _It wasn't a threat, it was a promise. And she needs to know what's at stake here, Sai. It's the only way that she'll survive to be an adult."_

" _I know, I just … I wish it wasn't so hard."_

" _Me too, nuur il'en. But I wouldn't trade it for any other life."_

They had said much more after that, but Natalya lost interest once the 'my darling, my light' stuff started. Saiya's worries had been unfounded; she was not afraid of her father. She wasn't afraid of anything, except falling into the Pit and being lost.

Which was why, even though she was very angry and very frightened at the moment, she tried with all her might to breathe slowly and calm herself, finding the place that Mama called her "core of light". It was just as strong as the Pit, Mama said, because it was a gift that the angels had given her when she was born. Natalya liked to imagine it as a playroom with all her favorite toys in it, and Walter rooting happily just outside the window. She was safe there, and happy, and the shadows couldn't claim her.

Hassal slowed and adjusted his grip on her, breathing hard. Nattie _knew_ she had been right to dislike him. He smelled bad, like the dead cat that she had found behind their house one day. And whenever he touched her, she felt a crawling sensation, as if bugs were skittering across her skin. Mama hadn't taken her seriously, but Mama was naïve when it came to people. She didn't _know_ things, not like Nattie did.

"You alright there, little pea flower?" Hassal asked, pinching her side. "Still with me?"

She answered by kneeing him in the chest as hard as she could (which admittedly was not very effective). He laughed.

"Good. I'm sorry it had to go this way. It would have been much better if your mama had just left you in New Tristram like she was supposed to."

Natalya would have liked to ask _why_ that would have been better, but she couldn't speak with the gag in her mouth. Hassal started running again, at a slower pace this time, but no less jostling.

They went on this way for a while, moving steadily downhill. She hadn't realized before, but the road they had been traveling wound through mountain forests. They were approaching the lowlands now, and the air was tinged with a funny smell: rank and moldy, like flower stems left too long in water. The little girl wrinkled her delicate nose at the unpleasant odor. Why did everything around her stink so much?

And the flies … there were so many of them suddenly, swarming up from tufts of lanky grass, buzzing about their faces. Hassal swatted them away from himself, but he did nothing to help Natalya, and her arms were trapped underneath her. She concentrated on emitting a faint aura of rage, just enough to encourage the insects to keep away. One particularly intrepid fly landed on her chin, and disintegrated instantly.

"Damn witch," Hassal muttered. "Living in a swamp. Why couldn't she pick an easier place to get to. Why did _I_ have to be the one to get this assignment?"

At that moment, there was a buzzing sound far louder than any fly, followed by a wet _thunk._ Hassal staggered and went down, spilling his burden onto the damp earth. There was a black-feathered arrow in the back of his leg.

A lean form appeared out of the swirling mist, limping slightly, crossbow dangling from one hand. Beneath the hood, a single eye shone brightly.

"Remember me, Hassal?" Baal rasped.

Nattie, free at last, pulled the cloth from her mouth and cried out, "Dada!" His gaze snapped over to her.

"Hey there, butterfly," he said. "You okay?"

She nodded. Her father crouched down beside the Horadrim, jabbing him none-too-gently in the head with the barrel of his weapon. "You have something that belongs to me," he growled. "I want answers."

"You'll get none from me," Hassal gasped, clearly in great pain. Baal slowly and methodically loaded an arrow into the bow.

"That's a shame," he said. "Answers were the only thing that could have saved your life, depending on how much I liked them."

"He was just saying something about a witch who lives here before you shot him," Natalya piped up, helpfully. Baal froze.

"A witch? Hassal, you'd _better_ hope that doesn't mean who I think it does, or you'll be living a lot longer than you want to and regretting every second of it. Last chance: what the blood-drenched hell is going on around here?"

"Torture me all you like," Hassal spat. "It's nothing compared to what _she'd_ do to me if I betrayed her. Or what's coming to us all, if she doesn't get her way. I'm sorry for you and yours, Baal, I really am. I wish we could have seen things the same way. But you'll understand in time what's really happening."

"Talya," Baal murmured, "close your eyes, honey."

Obediently, she did. There was another sound, a sharp snap. When she opened her eyes once more, Hassal's hood had been pulled up over his face, and Baal was tucking his bow back into its sling. He came to her, scooping her up in his arms and squeezing her tight, his cheek pressed to the top of her head.

"Hey, sweet baby girl. I missed you so much. Are you really okay? He didn't hurt you?"

"Not much," said Nattie. "I missed you too, Dada. Why do you smell so bad?"

Baal laughed, beginning to walk in a direction that Nattie thought was back the way Hassal had brought her. "You'll have to forgive me, princess, for not smelling like a flower. I've been trapped in a dungeon cell for the better part of a month, and I only broke out a few days ago."

She frowned, running her fingers through his black curls, so similar to her own. "Who put you in a dungeon, Dada?"

"Oh, just some people that I thought were friends. Hassal was one of them."

"I didn't like him at all," she confided, and he turned his head to grin at her.

"Smart kid. I bet Mama made friends with him at once."

"Yep." She played with his earring, which she had given him as a present the year before. It was a simple little ring, brass (because she couldn't afford a gold or silver one with her small allowance), but as far as she knew, he had never once taken it out.

"How did you find me so quickly?" she asked.

Baal tapped his nose. "Best weapon a Hunter has," he said. "Leads me true every time."

Natalya accepted this without further question. Somewhere deep in her mind, she understood the real meaning of his words: that he found her because her blood carried the unmistakable scent of a Great Evil.

She was beginning to doze off, her head on Baal's shoulder, when suddenly the ground dropped out from underneath them. The Hunter's grip on her tightened, one hand coming up to cradle her head. The fall was brief, the landing soft, and Nattie was staring up at a small circle of stars.

Baal groaned, fingers feeling carefully over her face in the darkness. "Ah, _ow …_ Talya? Are you hurt?"

"No," she replied. "What happened?"

"Some kind of … pit trap." His breathing was harsh, labored. "Probably dug by … a boggit."

"What's a boggit?"

"Little bastards, that's what they are. They live in … underground burrows, like rabbits. This was probably meant … to catch deer, not people. It was just … unlucky that I stepped on it."

"What's wrong with your voice, Dada?" Nattie asked.

"I, ah … I think my leg might be broken," he replied.

She scooted off of his chest and felt her way down until she reached his knee. As soon as she touched it, he flinched away and let out a stream of very naughty language. Frightened and upset at having hurt him, she began to cry.

"Hush, butterfly," he said, reaching for her. "I'll be okay. I just need to … rest a bit. Come up here and let me tell you a story. Did you ever hear about the time that your mother and I were in a swamp just like this one, and we fought a bunch of ghouls to get the keys to an ancient Nephalem temple? We were badly outnumbered and we might have died, but Caesar and Ghor came to rescue us at the last moment …"

Her curiosity piqued, Nattie clambered back up and tucked herself into the crook of his arm, listening intently.

* * *

Saiya was beginning to worry. It had been hours, and there was no sign of Hassal. He should have returned by now - unless the mysterious attackers had followed him instead. Visions of him lying injured or dead somewhere in the forest, with Nattie (or worse, _without_ her) filled Saiya's mind, and she decided that she could wait no longer. Packing up the remainder of their belongings, she put Walter on the scent trail and set out to find her daughter.

The boar had no difficulty in picking up the track. He trotted along determinedly, snout to the ground, pausing every so often to snuffle around in the dirt. Tired as she was, adrenaline kept Saiya moving at a brisk pace.

She had to slow somewhat when they reached the edge of a marsh, and the open, airy forest turned to a tangle of vines and shrubs hiding pools of nasty water. Walter's snout was no longer as effective, either, confused by the abundance of smells. Several times, he doubled back or ran in circles, and she was just beginning to doubt whether they were making any progress at all when he stopped and went stiff, beady eyes focused on something on the ground ahead.

It was a man's body. The face was covered, but Saiya recognized the clothing. She had located Hassal. Horrified, she knelt beside him and peeled back the cloth over his face. Beyond any doubt, he was dead.

"Nattie?" she called out, peering around in the vain hope that her daughter would appear out of the tufts of long grass that surrounded the area. "Nattie, can you hear me?"

But there was no reply. Whoever had killed the Horadrim had also taken Natalya.

Cold fury filled Saiya's heart, displacing all other emotions. These monsters had her baby, and they were going to pay for it. She clenched her fists, feeling the surge of holy power beneath her skin.

But first, there was the question of what to do with Hassal. Just leaving him didn't feel right, after their long days on the road. But she had no time to bury or burn him, not with Nattie missing. With a murmured apology, she began to drag the corpse towards the nearest pool, intending to submerge him.

Something on his leg caught in the grass, impeding her progress. Turning him over, she found a crossbow bolt lodged deep in the muscle of his calf. That in itself was not odd, but …

"Wait," Saiya murmured aloud. "I know this arrow. It's one of Baal's! But why …"

Further investigation revealed that the cause of death had been a second bolt to the head, which had been removed. The case was puzzling, but clear: Baal had killed this man. And Saiya could think of only one reason why he would do so.

Suddenly, every moment from the past two weeks was cast into a different light, and Hassal's actions seemed sinister rather than altruistic. He had shown up, a stranger with no qualifications save for his apparent knowledge of Baal (gleaned how, she wondered) and now that she thought back, it seemed very strange that her lover would have come so close - a day's travel from their front door - only to turn back at the last moment and send another in his stead.

And the attack tonight, Hassal must have had forewarning of it. His cry, _"Run! I have the child!",_ which she had assumed was meant for her, had more likely been intended for his cohorts. And she, trusting fool that she was, had just let him walk away with the most precious thing in her life.

But it was alright now, because Baal had their girl. Saiya wasn't sure where they had gone, but she knew that at least they would be safe. There was no one more capable of looking after Natalya, except perhaps herself.

Walter had lain down in a patch of mud, despondent at having lost his trail. Saiya scratched him comfortingly on top of the head.

"Cheer up, boy," she said. "I bet you a hundred coins that he's taking her back to the camp at Westmarch. Let's meet them there."

Walter gave a dignified grunt and heaved his bulk upright. Saiya dropped Hassal's body in the marshy water and turned away, feeling her spirits lighten. She didn't need to worry any more. Baal would take care of everything.


	4. 3 - Reunions

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

 _ **(Love Conquers All)**_

Part IV: When Angels Weep

* * *

" _All around me are familiar faces_

 _Worn out places, worn out faces_

 _Bright and early for their daily races_

 _Going nowhere, going nowhere."_

 _\- Gary Jules_

" _Mad World"_

* * *

 **Thanks so much, everyone, for your responses to the previous chapter! I'm beyond grateful that there's still so much interest in this story, and it was really awesome to see familiar names in the reviews :) hope it continues to live up to expectations!**

Chapter Three: Reunions

It was raining when Saiya arrived at the great city of Westmarch. She entered through the Wolf Gate into cold, grey, inhospitable streets lined with broken-down carts. There were no people in sight, not even guards.

"This is strange, Walter," she said to the boar, who answered with an affirmative snort. "Where is everyone?"

Some ways down the road was a set of massive metal doors - the Inner Gates - that divided the outskirts of the city from the much more populated districts at its heart. These doors were firmly closed, and no one answered her thundering knock. But a smaller iron gate leading off to the right was slightly ajar; pulling her hood up more firmly against the rain, she pushed it open and entered the narrow alley behind it.

This route proved a dead end - or so it seemed at first glance. But there was an open tunnel set deeply into the wall which, judging from the smell and foul runoff, led directly into the city sewers. Saiya grimaced. She had borne a passionate dislike of all waterways, sewers, and aqueducts since her time in Kehjistan, during which she had been forced to endure several unpleasant journeys through the underbelly of Caldeum.

But since it was apparent that other entrances to Westmarch were unavailable, the monk lit her lantern, thanked Ytar for her sturdy boots, and ducked beneath low stone archway with Walter trotting forlornly at her heels.

The smell was atrocious. There was the normal stench of any such location: garbage, rats, and human waste. But beneath it was a sour edge, rot and decay and … _death._

"I hope there's a hot shower waiting for me on the other side of this," Saiya muttered, squelching along. There was no option to keep her feet clean, so she was wading through several inches of thick, disgusting water, hoping desperately that there were no hidden holes for her to fall into.

Eventually she found stairs leading up, and climbed it. Kicking open the heavy door at the top was harder than it should have been. _I'm going soft,_ she thought to herself. _It's been too long since I had to fight anything more dangerous than boredom._

Crows flapped up from the shadows beneath a withered tree, their raucous cries startling her. She looked closer at what they had been picking at and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. It was a human corpse, too ravaged to determine age or even gender. Only a few sad shreds of flesh remained on the sodden bones.

"This is worse than I thought," Saiya whispered. "Is there even anyone left to save?"

But even as she spoke, a young woman came running out of a side street, utter panic on her face. She tripped and fell with bruising force onto the wet cobblestones, but scrambled up again almost at once. She would have run right past Saiya if the monk had not grabbed her arm, halting her.

"Hey!" she said. "What's the rush?"

"She's coming," the girl babbled. Her hair had come loose from its bun and hung in wild strands, and her clothes were torn.

"Who?" Saiya demanded. "Slow down, you're okay now. I've got you."

The girl whimpered, a thin, petrified little squeal. Moments later, her eyes _changed_ , first going wide and blank, and then glowing with a strange blue light. Her hands flew up to lock around Saiya's throat.

Saiya shoved her away, hard enough to send her staggering. She righted herself and charged in again, mouth agape, eyes burning. Skillfully, the monk turned to let her pass, and then tapped her in a certain place on the back of the head. She dropped like a stone.

"Okay, what's wrong with you?" Saiya murmured, kneeling down to roll the girl over. It was then that she noticed Walter, standing stiff legged and still, the bristles on his back raised high. She looked where he was looking, and saw a whole group of people coming down the street in an odd, shambling gait.

"Great," she sighed. "Possessed folks. Is _that_ what's going on here? Some kind of mass possession? Or is this an effect of the plague, stealing their minds."

Either way, it was high time to be gone. She could not afford to initiate a fight with a whole group of civilians; someone was likely to get hurt, and she wasn't sure yet that these people were beyond hope. Leaving the girl where she lay, Saiya got up and ran, choosing the broadest of the three streets ahead of her.

Upon reaching the end of it, however, she stopped in dismay. There was a large courtyard ahead, with a magnificent cathedral behind it, and the place was full from end to end with the possessed. It seemed to Saiya as if the whole city was there. They seemed eager to get into the cathedral, pounding against the gate with their fists and uttering wordless roars and cries.

"Shit!" hissed Saiya, pressing up against a wall to make herself less visible. There was no way she could make it through the courtyard unseen, but if she went back, she was sure to run right into the crowd she had been trying to avoid. Escaping back into the sewers was not an option, and neither was climbing a drainpipe to the roofs, as she could hardly abandon Walter.

She had just decided to take her chances with the smaller group when a sudden fog rolled in, neatly blanketing the entire courtyard in impenetrable white mist. A voice echoed through it, sibilant and deep, reverberating in the chill air.

" _Malaika walioanguka, wape huru watu hawa,"_ it said. _"Waachilie kutoka kwa vifungo vya nafsi zao. Komboa!"_

And a second voice, much softer and higher, added, "People of Westmarch, if you can understand my words, lie down on the ground and stay still. We are going to save you if we can!"

Saiya's heart leapt with joy. She recognized the first speaker; it was unmistakably her dear friend Ghor, the _sangoma_ who had fought by her side against the greatest of foes. The second voice sounded familiar as well, but she couldn't quite put her finger on where she had heard it before.

The fog cleared as quickly as it had descended. A handful of people had obeyed the instructions, but most had remained upright, clearly still possessed. Shadows gathered at their shoulders, giving them the illusion of having wings. As one, they turned towards the three figures, one very tall, two shorter, who stood on the cathedral steps.

One of the shorter ones raised a staff, and light lanced from the crystal on the tip, rebounding off of several people's chests. They fell, stunned or dead, it was impossible to tell. And with that, the battle had begun. The possessed swarmed the steps, trying to reach the defenders, only to be held at bay by a pack of Ghor's demonic dogs, summoned up from portals in the ground. The woman with the staff fired off bolt after bolt, each one sending two or three to the cobblestones. And the tall man strode among the horde of enemies, dispatching them with swift and brutal swings of his sword. It was a massacre.

Saiya, unwilling to let others have more than their fair share of danger or glory, jumped into the fray as well. She was uncomfortable killing people whose only crime had been to fall victim to the mysterious illness spreading rampant through the streets, and so she aimed for blows that would render them harmless for a time. Faithful Walter was right along side her, ramming into legs and trampling over the fallen with his sharp hooves.

Though there was no challenge in the fight, there were so many possessed that it took some to subdue them all. At last, when the final one had been struck down by a dart from Ghor's blowpipe, the four warriors stood facing each other over the piles of bodies, breathing hard. There had been no time for conversation during battle, but Saiya knew they had seen and recognized her.

"Ghor!" she exclaimed now, stepping forward to wrap her friend in a tight embrace. The older woman looked quite well; five years had hardly changed her, except to deepen the laugh lines at the corners of her jet-black eyes.

"Saiya," she said, smiling, and kissed the monk on either cheek. "It is good to see you again, dear one. You are, as they say in your land, a 'sight for sore eyes'."

"I've never understood that one," said the other woman. "How do your eyes get sore? It doesn't make any sense." She pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a delicate, pretty face that Saiya had last seen on the day she left Caldeum.

"Eirena!" she cried, holding out her arms. The enchantress rushed to hug her, pressing a cold cheek against hers. She smelled of a flowery perfume that took Saiya right back to the scented breeze of warm desert nights.

She had a pretty good idea by now of who the man must be, and was not at all surprised when Tyrael showed his face. He was clearly pleased to see her, but even the joy of their unexpected reunion could not erase the pain and weariness that seemed engrained in his features. He looked like a man bearing the whole world on his shoulders, for whom the weight had become unbearable.

"We must talk," he said, leaning heavily now on his sword, "but not here. We should get the survivors of this bloodbath back to our encampment, where they will be safe."

With a wave of her hand, Eirena opened a shimmering portal in the air. Saiya was impressed, for the young woman had not known this magic when they met in Kejhistan, and it was very difficult to master. But at the same time, she could help but be a little disturbed. Portals reminded her of Adria.

 _Better than than warping, I suppose,_ she thought gloomily, and then took a moment to wonder at herself, that it was less painful to remember a hated murderer still on the loose than a beloved friend who had died.

The survivors of the massacre were getting to their feet now, shaken and pale, staring around with blank looks on their faces. Strangely, they were all young: three actual children, two men in their early twenties, and a woman who couldn't have been much older than thirty.

"This way, good people," said Tyrael, gesturing to the portal. The children, who had likely not learned Khanduran yet, looked around in confusion, but the adults shepherded them towards safety. They said nothing, though the woman nodded gratefully at her rescuers as she passed.

Ghor went through after them, but Tyrael motioned for Saiya to precede him. As she did so, during the fractured second when her body and mind were in two places at once, she thought she saw a massive shape, all silver and black, glide overhead among the clouds. Something about it sent a shiver crawling down her spine. Then she was fully through, standing in a cramped and filthy alley with wreckage piled up behind her as a sort of blockade.

The monk followed on the heels of the group as they went out into the open, sensing the bulk of Tyrael behind her. She didn't know what she had been expecting from a refugee encampment in the middle of the plague-ridden city, but it wasn't this: a mess of tightly woven streets, a rabbit warren, with canvas hung up like spider webs in corners to keep off the rain. People took shelter wherever they could, converting whatever debris they could find into little hovels. It was as though she had stumbled into the city's slums, and yet many of the refugees she saw here were dressed in furs and gilded with gold and jewels.

"This way," said Tyrael, taking her elbow. "I have a tent set up for central command, if our ragged little band could be called such. There we may discuss our next move."

"And hopefully provide some explanations for what is going on," Saiya replied.

Ghor and Eirena followed them, talking quietly among themselves. Saiya caught a few sparse words: _"angels", "Nephalem",_ and _"Baal"_ being the most interesting. The latter was said with an upwards inflection at the end, implying it to be part of a question.

'Tent' was a generous word for the structure that Tyrael led them to. Someone had taken a broken-down wagon and placed it beside a wall, askew, so that it formed a little triangle. This was covered in boards, with a hanging cloth as a door. Inside it was stuffy and dark, but dry. Tyrael lit a few lanterns and sat down on a barrel.

"So," he said, in his deep, measured voice. "What brings you to our troubled city, Saiya?"

She frowned. "You … I _thought._ A few weeks ago - right around the time Baal was due home, actually - a man calling himself Hassal came to my house in New Tristram. He said that he bore a message from you, that I was needed urgently to deal with the crisis here."

Puzzlement and alarm worked their way over the former angel's countenance. "Hassal is one of my missing Horadrim," he said. "A small group of them vanished a month ago, along with Baal. We have been searching for them in vain. You say that you met him? Where is he now?"

"He's dead," Saiya said shortly. "And what's more, he's a traitor … if the man I met actually was Hassal, that is." She described the whole series of events, right up until the reunion in the cathedral courtyard. Tyrael's expression grew more and more troubled as she talked.

"Do you truly believe that your daughter was the target of this ruse?" he asked, when she was finished.

Saiya nodded. "Yes, I do. But Baal has her now, and I'm sure that he's making his way here as we speak. He knows the location of the refuge, right?"

"Of course!" said Eirena. "He helped build it, after all."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," Saiya said decisively. "I'm sure that Baal can tell us more about Hassal - or the fake Hassal, as might be the case - when he arrives. On to other matters. Time for some answers, Tyrael."

Tyrael sighed, weariness overtaking his concern. He lowered his head, speaking to the floor. "Do you know the name Malthael?"

"Beyond the fact that he's obviously an angel?" Saiya asked. "No, it's not ringing any bells."

"He's not just any angel," said Tyrael. "He was the oldest and wisest of us, the leader of the Angiris Council. The aspect that I now wear, Wisdom, once belonged to him."

There was something in his tone that made Saiya think this was not a happy story. "What happened to him?" she inquired.

"He forsook his brethren and left the High Heavens to wander on the earth, among the mortals," Tyrael answered. "In the old days, when I knew him well, he was neither friend nor foe to humans. When the fate of Sanctuary was in our hands, he alone abstained from casting a vote. And yet now he sends his Death Maidens to corrupt human souls, changing them into his minions. And graver still, he overpowered a host of Horadrim, and me as well, and stole the Black Soulstone from under our noses."

"What?!" Saiya cried, leaping up from her stool. "Tyrael, are you telling me that the thing that contains the essence of every single Lord of Hell is currently in the hands of some crazed angel with a hatred for humankind?"

He grimaced. "That is … a fair representation of the facts, yes."

"Unbelievable." She began to pace. Walter, hearing her distress, poked his head in from outside and snorted softly, ears perked.

"All is not lost, child," said Ghor. "A single piece of the stone remains in our possession. A mere sliver, granted, but as long as Malthael does not have the entire thing…"

"He can't use it to its full potential," Eirena finished. "Tyrael and I have been studying the shard we have, trying to ascertain what Malthael plans to do with the stone. Once we know more, we can move against him. For now-"

The tent flap was thrown aside and a young man stormed in, a Horadrim by his clothes. He was Kehjistani by birth, if his features were any indication: a handsome, clean-shaved face, with a soft mouth, a proudly arched nose, and dark, intense eyes under dark, furrowed brows.

"Is there any word of Baal?" he demanded. "My lord Tyrael, I heard that you had returned with a stranger, and I thought … oh." Spotting Saiya, he trailed off. "Is that …?"

"Am I who?" Saiya asked, somewhat bemused by the man's demeanor. He went down on one knee, head respectfully lowered.

"I beg your pardon, lady. My name is Lorath. I'm a … that is … Baal is a friend of mine. He's been missing for a month, and I hoped perhaps … there'd be some news."

"There is news," said Saiya. "I have brought it. He's definitely alive, and presumably on his way here as we speak, with our daughter in tow."

Lorath's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank the angels!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking for him as much as I can, but there are so few of us remaining that my presence was often required here, in the city. I had begun to fear the worst."

Saiya smiled at him. "Any friend of Baal's is a friend of mine," she said. "Thank you for making an effort, at least, to find him."

"It was nothing," Lorath muttered, blushing. "I owe him my life."

"Is there anyone here who doesn't?" said Eirena. "I mean, he helped save the world. I heard what happened in the heavens, when you fought Diablo."

 _When we lost Caesar,_ Saiya thought. Wanting to change the topic, she said, "Eirena, Ghor, it's so lovely to see you both again, but I must admit to some curiosity about why you're here. Did you receive mysterious summons as well?"

"In a way, yes," Ghor replied. "Three months ago, I began to have powerful dreams, the same kind of nighttime vision that drew me to New Tristram years ago. They told me I must come here, to Westmarch. We left at once, but it took us a long time to make the journey."

Saiya frowned. "We?"

"Come," said the _sangoma,_ with a secret smile. "There are people I wish you to meet."

"I'll join you, if I may," said Eirena, and the three women left the tent, abandoning Tyrael and Lorath to their own devises. As they walked through the narrow streets of the encampment, Eirena took Saiya's arm.

"I found a scroll in the library of Caldeum," she murmured, "that bore mention of the man that I knew as the Prophet. Its contents disturbed me greatly. He was in truth an angel, not a man, though that is not the part I find troubling. But the scroll spoke of a _great sacrifice,_ and _many lives forfeit for the price of one._ It is hard not to draw the conclusion that I was the one. And my sisters, the sacrificed. And if that is true, then the Prophet that I loved so dear may not have been worthy of my regard."

"I'm sorry," Saiya said, sympathetically. "I can only imagine how difficult that must be for you to contemplate. But how did you come to be here?"

"That's the strange part," Eirena said. "At the bottom of the scroll, written in a script that has been extinct for a thousand years, were the words, 'In Westmarch lie the answers Eirena seeks'."

They had arrived at a cozy little corner, where a campfire blazed in defiance of the rain. An _umbaru_ woman was sitting there, cross-legged, cradling a bundle wrapped in soft sling. She looked up at their approach and, seeing Ghor, beamed in welcome.

" _Mke wangu mpendwa,"_ she said. _"Umerudi salama!"_

Ghor leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the woman's full lips, seemingly unabashed by her spectators. "Jahaira," she said, "I want you to meet Saiya. Saiya, this is my beloved."

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last!" Saiya exclaimed, offering a hand to shake. Jahaira's palm, like the rest of her, was soft and round. Her eyes were wide and doe-like, her hair shorn close to the scalp, with intricate patterns running through it.

"Likewise," she said. "I have heard many tales of your bravery."

From within the sling came a muffled little cry. Crouching, Ghor moved the fabric away to reveal an infant's face. She sang to it, little nonsense noises, and the baby cooed at her in return. With a deft maneuver, she lifted it out from the sling and into her arms, and Saiya's jaw dropped.

The child had the wings of an angel.

* * *

 **I know, no Baal or Natalya this time. Next chapter will be devoted entirely to them, I promise! I'll probably alternate between the two POV's until our lovebirds are rejoined ;) Let me know what you think!**

 _* Ghor says: Fallen angels, set these people free. Release them from their soul bonds. Release!_

 _* Jahaira says: "My lovely wife, you have returned safely."_


	5. 4 - The Storm Crow

**Amor Vincit Omnia**

 _ **(Love Conquers All)**_

Part IV: When Angels Weep

* * *

" _I have seen your eyes_

 _And I can see death's disguise_

 _Hanging on me, hanging on me_

 _I'm beat, I'm torn_

 _Shattered and tossed and worn_

 _Too shocking to see."_

 _\- Cat Stevens_

" _Trouble"_

* * *

Chapter Four: The Storm Crow

"His name is Elim," said Ghor. "In the tongue of my people, it means 'knowledge'."

"He's beautiful!" Saiya exclaimed. She could not tear her eyes from the tiny tendrils of light, pale golden in color, unfurling from the infant's back. They were as delicate as fern heads, and cast a warm glow on his mother's face as she looked down at him with a fond pride.

"His father is Virtus, the Angel of Strength," she said. Saiya shot a quick glance at Jahaira, but she seemed untroubled by the mention of her wife's ritualistic love-making with an angel.

"He's got _wings_ ," said the monk, unable to keep silent any longer.

"Yes," said Ghor. "It would seem as though with my generation, we have at last reached the necessary concentration of angelic blood to return to our roots. Elim is the first of a new race, far closer to our forebears than we are."

"Congratulations?" Saiya offered hesitantly. She still had trouble understanding why Ghor would be willing to allow herself to be bred like livestock in order to produce a child with specific genetics. Something about the process seemed so cold and calculated; sex purely for the purpose of procreation, no love involved, and then to commit one's life as well as one's body to raising the resulting child …

 _Then again, I shouldn't judge,_ she thought, with a twinge of remorse. _Many people would not have kept my own child, tainted as she is with Azmodan's essence. Ghor made her choice, and she seems very happy with it._

The _sangoma_ sat down, baring one breast, and began to nurse her son. Jahaira settled a blanket around them, for warmth as much as for propriety.

"Is there any news of your husband?" she asked Saiya.

"Oh, we're not … married," Saiya replied, "but yes, he's on his way here now, with our daughter."

"Excellent! I look forward to meeting him. But my dear, would you like some food? You are looking a little famished."

Saiya had not realized how hungry she was until it was suggested to her. Eagerly, she nodded, saying, "That would be amazing, thank you."

"Eirena?" Jahaira asked. "Are you hungry?"

The enchantress shook her head. "Oh no, thank you. I ate before I went out."

"That was hours ago," said Ghor, with a slight frown.

"I know, but I ate quite a lot. Really. I'll hold Elim while you eat, if you like."

The baby gurgled as he was passed over, staring up at her with big eyes, the same bottomless black as his mother's. Eirena puffed out her cheeks at him and made silly faces until he began to smile.

"Do you have anyone special back in Caldeum?" Saiya asked her.

"No," she answered, looking somewhat regretful. "My research left me little time for socializing. And I found it difficult anyway … this period in time is so unlike my own, things have changed so much. When people learn the truth about me, they treat me differently."

"We didn't."

Eirena smiled. "I have missed you all very much."

"We missed you too," replied Saiya, thinking, _and one of us in particular, I'll bet._ Then something terrible occurred to her: of all the old friends she had unexpectedly encountered here, the one man who actually lived in this city had yet to show his face.

"Has anyone heard from Kormac?" she inquired, dreading an answer, yet dreading no answer just as much. Ominously, Ghor and Eirena exchanged a glance.

"We have heard _of_ Kormac," said the _sangoma_. "Tyrael tells us that he has a house here in the city, and a wife and child."

"I'll bet he's a wonderful father," added Eirena, in a somewhat dreamy voice. "He's so sweet and gentle."

"Well," said Saiya, "I'm going to visit him tomorrow. I have to know for sure that he's okay."

"Ooh, can I come?" Eirena exclaimed. "I would dearly love to see him again."

There was an awkward pause, while Saiya debated the wisdom of bringing a woman for whom the Templar had harbored such strong feelings on a mission where she was likely to meet his new wife. At best, it would be uncomfortable for Kormac; at worst, very painful, especially if his ardor had not faded. However, unable to think of an excuse without spilling Kormac's secret, she was forced to concede.

After the meal, which was a delicious spicy stew of meat and potatoes that Jahaira called _kuri,_ the four women drank strong tea and nibbled on honey-soaked biscuits and talked late into the night, passing the sleeping bundle that was Elim between them. Saiya found it very pleasant to hold an infant again. Her memories of the time when Natalya was a newborn were a bit hazy - she had been extremely ill during the end of her pregnancy, and for the first few months after she gave birth, she had been confined to bed, sleeping twenty hours a day and barely able to speak lucidly during the brief times she had been awake. The one thing she did remember well was Baal's constant presence. He had never left, caring first for her and then for both her and Nattie with a devotion that, had any doubts of his love for her remained, would have put them to rest. He had even refused a summons from the Hunters' Council, for the first and only time.

She fell asleep that night, wrapped snugly in a blanket next to the sputtering campfire, telling herself that tomorrow would bring her family back to her.

* * *

Natalya's stomach grumbled for the third time in ten minutes. She was hungry enough that the globs of wet leaves and mud littering the bottom of their prison were starting to look appetizing. The previous evening, Dada had dug around in the earth and pulled forth some roots, peeled them, and showed her how to chew the wood until it was a tasteless pulp in her mouth.

"Don't swallow it," he'd cautioned her. "You'll get splinters in your throat."

He was afraid, though he wouldn't show it. He was the bravest person Nattie knew (except perhaps for Mama); he had faced down and killed the Lord of Terror himself, and now he was afraid. Not for himself, she thought, but for her. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, pain and sadness and fear all twisted up into one glance.

They had tried to escape, all that first day. Time after time, Dada threw himself at the slimy walls of the pit, digging in deep with both hands and the toe of his good leg, only to come sliding back down when the soil crumbled out from under him. The final time, he had landed again on the broken leg, with a horrible crunching sound. Since then, he hadn't moved much.

He talked instead, telling more stories, some of his adventures with Mama, some of his own childhood. They got mixed up sometimes in the telling, and then Mama was there with him in Kehjistan, in his hometown, on his father's farm. Nattie stayed quiet and listened without really hearing. She was trying to keep her own fear at bay, using the techniques Mama had taught her for meditation. She did not want to be afraid in this place, dark as it was. She did not want to invite the Pit within her into the pit of her current reality.

But she was so _hungry,_ and even though she had a cloak around her shoulders, the rain had soaked it through, so she was cold as well, and Dada had been silent for a while. His face in the moonlight was very pale, the skin around his eyes nearly black by comparison. He looked like a corpse.

Nattie reached out and shook his shoulder. She meant only to wake him, but the moment her fingers touched his skin, something very strange happened: a pull of sorts, like from a magnet, and she felt an intangible sensation traveling up her arm, a whisper, a breath of warm air. Immediately, the horrible gnawing in her stomach lessened a fraction.

Baal's eyes snapped open, wide with panic, and he jerked away from her hand. The connection was severed. They stared at each other for a moment, two sets of matching red eyes lighting the darkness.

"What was that?" he rasped. "Talya, what were you doing?"

"I don't know," she said, disturbed both by his reaction and by the sudden, strong desire to regain that feeling. "I didn't meant to, Dada, I was just trying to wake you up."

"I feel … weak," he murmured, slowly flexing the fingers of one hand. "More than I should, I mean. Like I've been bled out."

"I'm not as cold and hungry as I was a few minutes ago," said Nattie.

"Really?" He took her hand, and it started again, stronger than before, a flow of warmth and energy and _life_ from his body into hers. His eyes fluttered closed, and this time it was Nattie who pulled away as if burned.

"I can't do that," she cried, vehement. "That's a very bad thing!"

He tried to smile. "It's okay, butterfly."

" _No!"_

"Talya …"

She was sobbing now, hating the stolen heat that flushed her skin and filled her belly. "If I take too much, you'll _die_. I won't do it!"

"Natalya!"

He was reaching for her. She slapped his hand away, screaming, "Don't touch me! Don't!" There was chaos around her, inside her, the Pit was very close at hand, she was falling …

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Baal whispered. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I wanted to help."

Sobs fading into sniffles, Nattie turned her back, hugging herself tight for comfort. If she didn't look at him, if she couldn't see him, then this hideous thing inside her couldn't do him any more harm.

Hours passed, or so she thought. Time seemed to slow, to expand, every breath she took lasting a decade. There were days between the fall of each raindrop, minutes between blinks, an eternity of isolation.

And then, voices, distant at first, then growing closer. A conversation too quiet to properly hear. Nattie waited for her father to make some sound, to draw attention to them, but he said nothing.

"Is that a new boggit trap?" someone said from quite nearby. "Wonder if they've caught anything."

A bright light beamed down on her, as harsh as the sun, and she scrunched up her face against it.

"Gods above!" the Someone exclaimed. "It's a dead man and a little child!"

Dead? Nattie turned around at last. Dada was lying very still, head lolling to one side, wet hair plastered across his face. She nudged him a little with the toe of her shoe, since she couldn't touch him. He didn't react.

"How long you been down there, girlie?" asked the other Someone. She glared fiercely back up at them and made no reply.

The first Someone said, "Guess we'd better get her out of there. The Crow will know what to do with her, I'm sure."

"Crow," muttered Nattie. Dada was friends with a crow (well, a raven, but what was the difference, exactly?). Which reminded her, she hadn't seen Gawahir in a while. Where had he gone?

"Aye," said the second Someone. "Crow will want to see her, that's for certain. She's got some power in her. Can't you feel it?"

"Like death's fingers," muttered the other. "Or burning eyes on my back. I don't like it." He made a swift gesture, and Nattie felt herself rising - or was she falling upwards? With a shriek of terror, she grabbed vainly for Baal's leg, only to have the fabric of his pants torn from her grasp as she ascended, weightless. Moments later, she found herself hovering, face to face with a man with warts on his face. A woman stood close by, short and wild-looking, with a tangle of untamed brown hair.

Nattie lashed out, trying to strike the man so he would let her fall back into the Pit with Dada, but she was too far away, her desperate swings missing him by a foot. He chuckled.

"This one's gone feral already," he said. "She'll fit right into our little band. Got a tongue, rat?"

"Let me go, you hell-damned bastard son of a bitch!" howled Nattie. The wild-looking woman screeched with laughter.

"She's got a tongue, alright. I like this one. Can I keep her?"

"We'll see what the Crow has to say about it first."

"No!" Nattie wailed as they began to walk away, floating her behind them on an invisible line. "No no _no_! Dada!"

They stopped, turned. The man said, "He's dead, rat. Nothing to be done for him."

"He's not dead! He's not, he's not, he's _not-"_

Sighing, the woman performed the same lifting trick, with a little more effort, and Baal was hovering in the air beside her, head and limbs dangling. She inspected him for a moment and then said, "Well, fuck me. Kid's right, there's still a spark here. Guess the boss will be getting two gifts for the price of one, eh?"

They talked together as they strolled through the swamp, sometimes in Khanduran, sometimes in a thicker, harsher language that Nattie couldn't understand. She felt in a daze, nauseous from the magic keeping her afloat, confused and petrified and furious beyond the ability to speak. She tried not to glance over at her father, so she wouldn't have to remember the warmth she had taken from him.

Eventually, she became aware of something huge looming in the darkness ahead; not a _place_ so much as a _feeling_ , a strong sorcery of some kind. It was like a spider's web, multiple strands strung together to form a structure. When they passed through the outer boundaries of it, a shock rippled through her body like a jolt of lightning. The air grew colder; she could see her breath.

There were many people about now, coming out of huts between the trees, in the trees, under the marshy sod. They were dressed in rags and grasses, covered with mud. Swamp people. As she was dragged by, they began to chant: _"Storm Crow! Storm Crow!"_

A dizzying fear began to build in Nattie's chest, shadows creeping in at the edges of her vision. She recalled what Hassal had spoken of, the witch who lived in this foul place. Dada had known her as well, and there was no mistaking the hatred in his voice. What would the witch do to them, if she caught them? Boil them alive in a cauldron, like in the scary stories Rosylea told? Or steal their minds and put their bodies to work, capturing other children? Nattie thought she might faint from the horror of it all, but she remained conscious as she was brought up to a large chair in the center of a clearing. At first, she thought it was made of bones, but then she realized it was actually pieces of white wood, cunningly woven together.

Mercifully, both she and Baal were dropped onto solid ground at last. She lay gasping and shivering, face pressed into the musty grass. Footsteps approached, and a shape sat down on the chair.

"I was asleep," said a light, male voice. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"Thought you'd want to see at once, my lord." said the wild woman. "There's something odd about this girl-child. A deep power, an old power."

"Roll the man over so I can see his face," commanded the Storm Crow. A moment later, he gasped aloud. When he spoke, his voice was much harder, low and rough.

"Did you do this to him? Either of you?"

"No, sir," said the warty man, sounding nervous now. "We found them both in a boggit trap. Thought this fellow was dead at first, and was gonna leave him, but the little rat wouldn't let him go."

The Storm Crow stood up from his chair and knelt down beside Baal, first pressing a finger to his throat, and then an ear to his chest. Nattie, peering cautiously up, saw him for the first time. He was a slender man, not tall, with loose black hair. His face was strange, bird-like - and then she realized that it was not his face at all, but a white, feathered mask, covering his face above the mouth.

"Ulia!" he shouted. One of his followers stepped forward, a bony woman with a twisted mouth. The Crow said, "I trust him to your care. If you fail to save his life, you'll wish I'd let the Crusaders get hold of you. Understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, my lord."

With a gesture, she brought two men from the crowd, who lifted Baal between them and started to bear him away. Nattie scrambled up to run after them, but the Storm Crow grabbed her arm.

"Wait, little one," he said. "Your father will come to no harm, but Ulia needs room to work her spells. Come and sit with me a while. I'm very interested in knowing more about you."

She opened her mouth to tell him off, but stopped herself before the words could come pouring out. The distrust and aversion that she felt upon meeting most people was absent with this man. Instead, he felt … comfortable. As if she already knew him well.

"I'm Natalya," she said, "but you can call me Nattie."

He took off his mask, revealing a kind face and storm-grey eyes, and held out one gloved hand. When she took it, frost tickled her fingertips.

"Hello there, Nattie," he said. "My name is Caesar."

* * *

 **Okay, I must know. Did you guys think he was really dead, or did you suspect he'd be back? Reviews are the fuel that keep this machine running smoothly! :) Thanks so much for all the support!**


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